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  • Writer's pictureLeah Jones

Visually pleasing, but if I hear the name John one more time…

Last night we went to see Constantine. I sometimes judge a movie on the seat factor. How many times did I have to majorly shift my body to get comfortable? Five or six times and this was at City North–a comfortable theater. The story didn’t hold me long enough to keep me comfortable in my seat.

Plus it is a story based on Catholic beleifs and I found myself comparing it (and being relieved) that I’m choosing judaism. Also I was wondering how much better it would be if I had a better working knowledge of catholicism. Demons, the Devil, Half breeds, suicide, holy water…

I appreciated the understated symbols, but not the overt symbols. Didn’t like the close up of the private taxi cab that said “ANGEL CITY,” but I did like the 100 water cooler bottles of holy water and the bedspread covered in crosses.

Every single time John Constantine lit a cigarette, he snapped it open with the flare of a 16 year old boy with his first zippo. EVERY SINGLE TIME! And there was a cigarette in every single fucking scene. Flip, zap, light, click, flair, flair, flair. And his adorable sidekick said his name every single sentence. “John, when can I come with you? John, blah blah blah. Blah blah blah, John.”


And the devil was pretty gay. A little flamboyant, a little homoerotic. So was Balthazar… a demon trying to get on the other side. And on your way to heaven, you flip off the devil?

I think with a large crowd, it would have been easier to laugh at the jokes. There were jokes, but it was hard to laugh. I wasn’t always certain the jokes were meant to be jokes.

I’m not sure Ronnie gets to choose the movie next time, but I’m the one who said I didn’t care, I just wanted to go to a movie. Just like how my friend Rachel no longer gets to pick the movie. This wasn’t terrible, it was just not my style.

And, come on, just one movie where Keanu Reeves doesn’t wear a black trench, white shirt, black tie.

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